< -f 


a> 


^> 


. ^tS» 


^ -? 


:s> 


.J2> 




^ =^ 


^s> 


>> 


■ =» mT 


> > > 


» 


)_> 




? <^ 


:i> 


i> 




^ :> 


^ 


Ol> 


"> T) O 


> > 


^ 


>J> 


^-^^^^ 


> > 




;»> 


~^>y^ 


> > 


IS> > > 


^:> 


-^»f> 


^ > : 


^^ .) ' 


■■-^ 


■"> .. ■,>» 


I^^^B 


IL^ 


i^ 




» J 


.^ ■ 


>>^> 


:> > 


^ > ' 


^ ' 


>i> 


> . > > 


> y 


3|r ' 


>j» 


j> J 


:>) 


^^ 


0> 


3 o 


^3 _^ 


m :> 


v^ii> 


^^ > 


>_>._^J 


p J»>) 


::^ 


">^' ;> ■; 


J>^~^^p 


► >"■ •> ' 


X3 


> :> ^ 


J jji^ 


:> J ^O 


^•■li T^ 


' > ^^^ 


1 ^ >^ 


:>ix> 


3 ^-^ 


' ^ \..jfc 


:>s> 


^ o ^^^p 


► ^ :> 


^~>?p» 


^ 3^' i^ 


)0^^^ 


► ^'^ 




>->,-^ 


"> > ^3Bi 


' > > 


~3^'*"^ 


S.. v:^ 






^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 

f ^^ V%46 # 

f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, f 






^ >ti ^ 



»3:> 



^ >>s 



r>»*» -^yp> 









:> >:> :> > 



> C 



m 






y> 


^j». 


_JX> 


■> 


5^>f 


3> 


^ 


5"^^^' 


?>:> 


~> 


t:»^ 


:» 


^^ 


>!!>. 


3> 


> 

> 






>3 

3 




^ 






bw 



'Y/^^ 



CONCORD FIGHT, 



BY S. R 



.< 



ARTLETT. 




BOSTON: 
A. WILLIAMS AND CO. 

18G0. 



? 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, 

BY A. WILLIAMS AND CO. 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 

Massachusetts. 



BOSTON: 
TKINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 

22, SoHOOL Street. 



JOSIAH BARTLETT, M.D. 

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
BY HIS SON. 



PRELUDE. 



Who does not love to trace in thought the ways 
Which noble feet have trod in bygone days, — 
Days of romance, of fable, and of song, 
Of tender charms, which to "old times" belong, — 
The dear '^ old times," when the old hills were 

young. 
And Mother Nature had but lately sprung, 
Equipped and armed in proof from head to toe. 
With beauteous grace and charming youth aglow. 
From out the Maker's head, that felt the pain, 
And at the stroke of fate gave life again ? 
How sweet to walk the sands of Galilee ; 
To tread dr3'-shod the pathway through the sea ; 
To hear Paul plead, or William Shakspeare sing. 
Or Robin Hood make the gay greenwood ring ; 
On the Norse Edda, fancy joys to dwell. 
And wondrous 'scapes ^neas sad befell ! 

1* 



6 PRELUDE. 

dear old Time ! tliy scythe and hour-glass 
Warn ns how swiftly light-winged hours pass. 
Another glass is thine, more wondrous rare : 
Through it we gaze, — the plainest things seem fair, 
Mellowed and radiant with prismatic light. 
Time lends enchantment to our mental sight. 
We boys have played about our fathers' yard 
So many years so happily ! 'Twas hard 
Enough to say " Good-bye ! '' the dreary day 
Life's duties led our lingering steps away. 
Sad wanderers far upon some distant strand. 
When weary miles of ocean or of land 
Remove our hearts from home, divorced and sad. 
We mourn. Then Memory draws near; and, glad, 
We know her pictures drawn before our view ; 
The same old scenes, but clothed with radiance 

new, — 
The dear old woodpile, and the latticed shed ; 
The cherry tree, and garden gate which led 
Through to the brook, where, first allowed to bathe. 
We liked to let the rippling streamlet lave 
Our naked feet hung from the daisy bank, 
And Avatch the eddy where the pebble sank 
Tossed from our tiny fingers; where the birch 
Sheltered with tangled roots the wary perch, 
Swift dollar-bugs and skaters glided round. 
Slow tortoises slipped down the grassy mound, 
And wavy willows formed a leafy screen 
To shelter from the sun the lovely scene ; 



PRELUDE. 7 

The schoolroom too, with desks deep scored and 

worn, 
Old yellow curtains faded, tumbled, torn ; 
The Meeting-house, the Common, and the hill 
Where Ave had coasted Saturdays, until 
The darkness warned us, tired, home to bed, 
All night to ride in dreams upon our sled ; 
The skating on the meadows, healthy, free. 
When we w^ere happy as but boys can be ; 
Sweet music creaked the wheels on frosty snow 
As morning gray saw teams to market go ; 
The boating on the river, long before 
Swift wherries shamed the square-end tubs of yore ; 
The fishing on the bridge, or from the bank, 
Standing with rod and line, 'mid verdure rank. 
Flags, sedges, cresses, fleurs-de-lys, and sweet. 
Pure water-lilies, blooming at our feet ; 
Snaring, perchance, unlucky perch or bream, 
Or pickerel, the monarch of the stream ; 
The rambles to the cliffs and boiling spring 
To see a tanager upon the wing ; 
Sweet Sleepy Hollow too, — a place of rest 
For all who'd seek the luring, quiet nest ; 
The poplar-tree which crowns the little hill, 
From which at sunset oft we've drank our fill 
Of simple loveliness, as, quite subdued, we've stood 
Watching the sunlight fade on field and wood. 
O'er the old scenes dear Time delights to throw. 
Our grief to still, its chastened, tender glow. 



5 PRELUDE. 

We read old songs of Troy, of Greece, of Rome, — 
Of noble souls, who strove for right and home ; 
Whose blades drank deep of false, impurpled 

blood ; 
Who shed their own to swell the cleansing flood, 
To wash the world of tyranny and wrong ; 
Thrice mighty souls of majesty and song. 
We prouder feel the name of man to bear, 
Since of such parentage we claim a share. 
But we forget, in tales of Greece and Rome, 
That we've ourselves a Salamis at home. 
Our dust has had its taste of human blood ; 
Musketaquid^ been stained by crimson flood. 
A second Rubicon : upon its brink. 
Dear Liberty herself once paused to think 
The best ; then cast her robes of peace aside, 
And risked her all in War's uncertain tide. 
A second Marathon : a rustic few, unskilled 
Save in the arts by which their fields they tilled, 
Here smote the giant Skill, and laid him low, 
Humbled in dust, slain by a pigmy's blow\ 
Where some rude beams once bridged the placid 

stream 
Has rung the note of musketry; the gleam 
Of glittering bayonet and burnished blade 
Has flashed beneath our old elm's youthful shade ; 
Our Common trembled once 'neath marshalled 

feet ; 
Our fathers rushed a hostile band to meet. 



PRELUDE. 9 

The time-worn vanej^ which creaks and moans to- 
day, 
Whene'er the breeze shifts to a different way, 
Once sadly moaned to hear the warning bell 
A summons sound, the country folks to tell, 
Resounding from its belfry just below, 
Their peaceful homes were threatened by the foe. 
Each tree, each road, each pond, each stream, each 

hill. 
All have a tale to tell you, if you will 
But listen, — tales of sweet and sad renown, 
That throng around our cherished, dear old town. 
The budding leaves of spring, the tints of fall, — 
Red, golden, brown, — what memories recall! 
Sweet thoughts that make us young if we are old. 
And children bear us back within the fold. 

Once, long ago, some hostile Indians stood 
Upon a hill near by, debating which they would 
March to attack the first; which town of two, — 
Concord or Sudbury. They argued what to do. 
Concord, say most ; until one honored chief 
Gave to the council this, his wise belief: 
" No use to go to Concord ; for they say 
That Concord men are known to be great pray." 
And he prevailed. With midnight sword and 

flame. 
Of Sudbury they left alone a name. 
Our fathers slept unharmed. Another band 
With hostile arms fell on our peaceful land, 



10 PRELUDE. 

And met the men the old chief called " great pray." 
How proud they came ! how humbled went away ! 
Proud Britain's dauntless troops, they fled in fear, 
A total rout, with rustics in the rear. 

Oh ! can it be, that we degenerate sons, 
False to our blood that from such sources runs, 
Have ceased to pray by word, by deed, by thought ; 
Base heirs to glory which our fathers bought ? 
No, 'tis not so. Old Concord grieves to hear 
A wailing voice, to see a victim's tear : 
When comes the time to act, her sons will throng. 
And daughters too, to crush the force of Wrong. 
dear old town ! we love you but too well ; 
The storied lore your ancient annals tell ; 
Your daughters fair, your sons both brave and true ; 
Each heart leaps high to twine a wreath for you : 
Well Avorthy of the minstrel's song divine. 
Still you will hear this simple strain of mine. 
A breeze steals through thy pines, so sweet, so clear, 
It whispers myriad fancies in my ear. 
Musketaquid and Walden ^ bumpers fill, 
Intoxicating draughts, and every hill 
Inspires me. Nahshawtuck,^ friend so dear ; 
Anniirsneak, Punkatasset, guardians drear; 
And Assabet, the gentle, — all combine 
To cheer my heart thy laurel to intwine. 
The tale is simple, and is simply told, — 
Events that really happened once of old ; 



PRELUDE. 11 

Deeds that our fathers did, that we agam 
May have to do, should ever ring the strain 
Of martial music, not in muster play, 
But stern and shrill as in the famed old day. 
Each soul that thrills at noble Christian deeds, 
Each heart that for the slave down-trodden bleeds. 
Each hand upraised Oppression's head to smite, 
Will kindle at the tale of Concord Fight. 



13 



CONCORD FIGHT. 



TwAS early spring. Soft breathed the balmy air ; 
And Nature, early from confinement free, 
Raised up her head from Winter's chilling yoke, 
And shook her golden tresses merrily : 
The fruit-trees bloomed a perfect prayer of bloom ; 
The birds swelled high their song of grateful praise. 
Could I but sing a song of Nature dear ! 
But no : a tale of man's unholy ways ; 
A song of strife, of violence, of wrong. 
Of tyranny, oppression, war, and blood ; 
Where brothers met, both tender children once, 
And with their life-blood swelled one fearful flood.. 

'Twas long ago. The elm, our boast and pride>. 
Was then so small, you'd clasp it with one arm. 
Come, let us stand beneath its shade, and we 
Will watch the fight without the least alarm. 
A still, old town ; as now, a happy home ; 
Place of some note ; for here the rebels bold — 
Adams and Hancock and the others — dared 
Their traitorous conspiracy to hold ; 

2 



14 CONCORD FIGHT. 

Here Congress met ; and here they gathered 

stores, — 
Some cannon, muskets, flour, powder, lead ; 
With covenanting spirit, sternly stood 
Prepared their blood in Freedom's cause to shed : 
A few quaint houses, browned by wind and rain ; 
A meeting-house, with pointed gables queer ; 
A mill across the brook ; a court-house rough, 
The creaking of its time-worn vane we hear ; 
Wright's tavern, with its sign ; and on the hill 
A tall, stout pole, set up the other day 
By almost all the town, and on it spread 
A rebel flag, to show defiance to 
The king, their Heaven-anointed head. 

Some did not join them. The Tory Bliss, 
And several other men sincere and true. 
Told them 'twas wicked, foolish, and insane 
To thus defy a host, they weak and few. 
A time that tries men's souls. Which side to 

choose. 
The noblest doubt : a rebel's name and fate 
Is fearful to endure ; and harder yet 
To bow their souls, and pay a tax they hate. 
The crisis comes ; and soon you must decide. 
Which will you serve, — your Maker or the king ? 
The hour is past when kings could do no wrong : 
Stout Cromwell taught us all a thrilling thing, — 
That kings have jointed necks like other men. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 15 

Hold ! treason 'tis you talk ! Perhaps ; but so 
Said Parson Emerson but Sunday last, — 
The day we stood to sing the hymn, you know, 
That " tyrants to resist, obedience is to God." 

The time is coming : question of yourself. 
Which side, which deed, is right, and which is 

wrong. 
A simple question 'tis. Are you your own. 
Or George the Third's ? It cannot take you long. 

The moment comes. Oh, hark ! clang, clang ! 'tis 

here ! 
Rouse up, each one that feels the cause is true : 
The tocsin to the fight rings loud and clear ; 
Sad midnight bell ! Sam Prescott brings the 

news, 
Warren has sent a man named Paul Revere 
To rouse the country. Call the men to arms ! 
Ring out, shout out, the message far and near ! 
Come, fathers, brothers, lovers, to the fight; 
Defend your homes, your wives', your children's 

peace ; 
Come to a feast of bloody war, from which 
You'll often sigh for even death's release. 
Ne'er were the Indians scared, as long ago 
The first bell sounded, hung on Jethro's* oak, 
As, calling men to arms and women to escape, 
This knell the quiet of the village broke. 



16 CONCORD FIGHT. 

Long months ago they saw the heavens lower, 
Tempestuous clouds the whole horizon shroud, 
The sun of Liberty grow pale. They knew 
Jove's lightning hung suspended in the cloud. 
It comes at last, — the thunderbolt ; and on 
Their peaceful homes it bursts with dreadful roar ; 
And, while they fear not, they confide in Him 
Who rules the storm. Their hearts are chill with 

awe. 
The British troops are coming. Far and wide 
The sad news flies ; from lip to lip ^tis spread. 
The anguished mother holds her child to kiss 
The father who will soon be cold and dead. 
Oh, there are partings, hurried, hopeless, sad ! 
The Avidow arms her son, with tears, with love : 
His eye is dry, his lip stern set and firm ; 
She prays for safety to the Lord above. 
The wife equips her husband with the gun 
Her father carried in the old French war : 
She can but just remember when they came, 
And brought it to her mother stained with gore. 
The maiden clasps her lover to her heart, — 
A lingering, long embrace. Oh, stern, stern 

fate! 
She would not have him stay. How can she bear 
To have him go, her Heaven-appointed mate ? 
The sister brings the powder-horn, and pouch 
Filled full with bullets she has helped to run. 
How easy 'tis to brave the deadliest fight ! 



CONCORD FIGHT. 17 

How hard to wait until the loved ones come ! 
When the warm blood throbs fiercely in his veins, 
The meanest man can gladly risk his life ; 
But she the laurel earns who stays at home, 
And waits and prays, — the soldier's hero-wife. 



THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Fill up, fill up with scalding tears. 

Each noble heart and true, 
A brimming bumper. I shall give 

A thrilling toast to you. 

Come, join hand and heart to-night. 

And let no eye be dry : 
In tearful silence hear the names 

That our full hearts steal by. 

The faithful mothers, daughters, wives, 

And sisters, — oh, so true ! 
The loving, trusting, waiting ones 

Our Revolution knew. 

The grass grows o'er their nameless graves ; 

In peace, in rest, they lie. 
Can we forget to whom we owe 

Our blessings, — you and I? 



18 CONCORD FIGHT. 

They nerved the hand that waved the sword, 

That sped the bullet sure ; 
They cheered the fainting, weary heart, 

Worse trials to endure. 

No marble leaps from out the dust 

To glorify their name. 
There needs none : graven on our hearts 

The record of their fame. 

For iron rusts, and stone decays : 

We'd trust them not to save 
Our mother's memory ; ourselves 

Will fitly mark their graves. 

Each one will carve a worthy stone 

With noble deed or thought ; 
A monument we'll rear, more grand 

Than cunning Art has wrought. 

The blessed seed that they have sown 

In fertile, cultured earth, — 
Oh ! they will blossom in our lives, 

Sweet flowers of rarest worth ; 

Sweet flowers, fadeless, fragrant, pure ; 

Sweet flowers, fit to twine 
A wreath to decorate their graves, 

These women half divine ! 



CONCORD FIGHT. 19. 

Fill up, fill up with scalding tears, 

Each noble heart and true. 
Mothers of Liberty ! we drain 

A brimming cup to you. 

Upon the Common see a busy scene ! 
The minister talks treason loud and wild. 
They gather round him, — shepherd of the flock. 
The mother brings to him, to save, her child. 
With grim, determined faces come the men : 
Armed and equipped, before the church they form. 
Gathered like chickens 'neath the mother's wing, 
They wait the long-expected, frightful storm ; 
For they are praying men, these farmers plain. 
Some load the stores in wagons : quick away 
They hurry with them to some secret place, 
To hide them safe before the break of day. 
They watch and wait ; yet still no foe comes near, 
No sign of any enemy in sight. 
At length, dismissed, they scatter to their homes, 
To try and sleep until the morning light. 
Quiet once more assumes its wonted reign ; 
The village sleeps in Concord once again. 

'Tis early dawn. The golden sun begins 
To gild the tree-tops with his brilliant light ; 
Tinges the gables of the village church, 
The house-roofs and the hills, with glory bright. 
Again the bell rings out its warning sound ,* 



20 CONCORD FIGHT. 



The minute-men are marshalled on the green. 

This is no false alarm ; but thrilling, earnest fact. 

This time the guns are loaded not in vain. 

Soon, gleaming in the morning light, they see 

The glistening bayonet and scarlet form, — 

Proud England's choicest troop in bright array : 

Oh ! 'tis a sight the coolest heart to warm. 

" Come, let us meet and firmly brave them here : 

This is the place for us to nobly die ; 

Here, 'midst our homes. A wretched coward he 

Who from this green the first would start to fly ! " 

So spake the minister. Through every heart 

His earnest accents thrilled with throbbings wild. 

" Never from here will we alive depart ! " 

The Avord went round. At length, more prudent 

thoughts 
Prevailed. The minister, at home confined 
In the Old Manse, for fear his counsel wild 
Would lead the people from their peaceful mind. 
Looked from his chamber-window with his wife, 
And saw them march across the river still. 
On the North Bridge, with firm, determined step. 
And form in line on Major Buttrick's hill. 
Here Barrett, Buttrick, and the others stand, 
Debating what is best. A smoke they see 
Arising from the town. " What can we do ? 
'Tis foolish to resist, so weak are w^e." 
Then come the minute -men from Acton, well 

equipped, 



CONCORD FIGHT. 21 

With Captain Isaac Davis at their head. 

" What shall we do ? " of him they ask. " Stand 

here, 
And let them lay our homes in ashes low ? 
Or shall we march and meet them ? " He replies, 
" IVe not one man who is afraid to go." 
See, through the trees a troop approaches ! Now 
Spellbound the rebels stand. '^ The bridge they 

gain. 
They're tearing up the planks ; we cannot pass : 
We must resist them now with might and main." 
" March, march ! " the word is said ; and through 

the ranks 
Each heart is thrilled with new and fearful life, 
As Luther Blanchard of the Acton corps 
Strikes up the " White Cockade " upon his fife. 



THE WHITE COCKADE. 

There swell upon the April breeze 

Notes clear and shrill : 
A yoeman band, in homespun clad. 
Moves down a grass-grown hill. 

March, farmers ! — march to strife, to death, 

With fearless tread ! 
For home inspires every heart, 
And Right moves at the head. 



22 CONCORD FIGHT. 

Oh ! well the hirelings who hear 

That simple strain 
May tremble as the well-known notes 
Ring in their ears again ; 

For they have heard them sound before : 

They learned them well 
At Louisburg and Martinique, 
And know what tale they tell. 

Firm hearts and true, strong hands to do, 

For Libert3^ 
The fierce old strain rings once again, 
^' Come death or victory ! " 

The lips that woke the dawning note 

Are passed away ; 
But the echoes of the " White Cockade " 
Ring round our hills to-day. 



Down, down the hill they file towards the bridge : 
The regulars soon leave the planks alone. 
Time waits a moment ; then three signal shots 
Are fired in the stream, Avith gurgling moan 
That chills each heart. From the red rank a smoke 
Breaks curling out; a ringing, sharp report; 
And hideous War is from his slumber woke. 
Too late to hesitate ; for blood is drawn. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 23 

A volley follows. Bleeding in the dust, 

Brave Captain Davis falls, and Hosmer too. 

Each heart agrees to perish, if it must : 

Martyr in such a cause, who cannot feel 

It is a blessed privilege to die ? 

Each minute-man, determined, grasps his gun ; 

And, resolute for strife, each heart beats high. 

Then Major Buttrick leaps from off the ground : 

" Fire ! for God's sake, fire ! '' rings out his cry. 

From the old gun that some of us have seen 

There swept the bullet, free -winged, swift, and 

true. 
That shook stern Tyranny upon his throne. 
And pierced Oppression's banner through and 

through. 
A conflict sharp and short. What can withstand 
Determined men who fiercely strive for right ; 
Who fight for happiness, for life, for all? • 
Then the world sees a strange, unwonted sight, — 
A veteran corps, who ne'er have turned before, 
Fly from a simple crowd of farmers stout. 
Coarsely apparelled, poorly armed, untried : 
The regulars retreat, a perfect rout. 
Amazed the rebels stand, and let them go ; 
Uncertain, even then, what they will do. 
What little order they have had is lost : 
With fierce revenge each heart is all aglow. 
O'er the great fields they rush to fight again, 
Each as best suits himself From tree or wall 



24 CONCORD FIGHT. 

Speeds tlie keen shaft of death. At each report, 
Some brilliant uniform is seen to fall. 
The country is aroused, and every home 
Pours out defenders for the sacred hearth ; 
Heroes full-armed start breathing from the sod, 
And pools of blood mark out the homeward path : 
From far away they come in haste to help. 
The bright array of scarlet, white, and gold. 
Fly like a frightened flock of sheep that try. 
Ere the storm breaks, to gain the sheltering fold. 
On by the green, where early dawn had seen 
The young, the old, shot down by ruthless 

might, — 
First martyrs to the cause ; their features plain, 
Transfigured, filled the world with dazzling light. 
They died ; and Truth and Right grew strong and 

bold, 
And fearless rushed to glorious victory on. 
Strong hands revenge, and noble hearts bewail, 
The fearful massacre at Lexington. 
Through Cambridge too, though held at bay at 

times, 
The rebels chase the regulars, until 
The shelter of the fleet at night they gain ; 
Then, only then, the hornets' nest is still. 
Panting, the troops lie on the ground to rest, 
(Their march that day a weary one and long ; 
And hungry too, for their supplies were lost.) 
So sufier all who wage the cause of Wrong. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 25 

The stones of that day, how dear they are, 
From grandmamma to children handed down ! 
The little words they said, the little things they did, 
More cherished than the deeds of great renown. 

'Twas early dawn ; and, by a rough-hewn curb, 
A comely maiden stood, with pail in hand, — 
A blushing, lovely maiden, sweet sixteen. 
Half wantonly the breeze her soft cheek fanned. 
With heavy, balanced sweep, she lowers down 
The moss-grown bucket in the deep, cool well ; 
And up it comes, heaped full with pearly beads, — 
A rosary well fit for gods to tell. 
She leans the bucket on the curb, and puts 
Her rosy lips down to its brim to drink. 
She screams, and blushes crimson. Kound her 

waist 
She feels an arm : whose 'tis, she cannot think. 
She turns around, and struggles : 'tis in vain. 
A handsome youth, with epaulets of gold, 
And scarlet uniform, and lip moustached, 
With graceful mien, and courteous though so bold, 
Steals a sweet kiss ; another. Then he says, 
" My dear, I'll see you once again to-night." 
He lets her go : she, frightened, runs away. 
At night she sees him, wounded in the fight. 
His scarlet uniform is crimsoned deep 
With his own blood : anguished and sad, he groans 
In rebel hands. The maiden's care it is 

3 



26 CONCORD FIGHT. 

To stanch his wounds, and soothe his saddening 

moans : 
She tends him with a woman's tenderness. 
This story verifies the oft-told tale : 
Man may insult, degrade, offend most sore ; 
But woman's womanhood will never fail. 

Adams and Hancock, from their beds aroused 
By watchful friends, sought refuge from their foes. 
Just as the sun upon a scene of peace 
And loveliness in gorgeous grandeur rose, 
One said, " Oh, what a glorious morn is this ! " 
A glorious dawn upon a bloody day : 
Prophetic souls, that saw the happiness 
When the dark clouds of war should roll away. 

At the Wright Tavern, Major Pitcairn calls 
For brandy; it with bloody finger stirs: 
" So their damned rebel blood I'll stir ere night ! '' 
And so effectually he did. Ungrateful curs. 
They burned the hand that stirred. Their blood, 

aroused. 
Boiled over with a force most fierce and hot ; 
And the poor major learned at Bunker Hill 
How truly speeds the angered rebels' shot. 

Sam Prescott was betrayed, who brought the 
news. 
They traced him to the house where he lay still. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 27 

Safe in a barrel full of feathers, where 
He heard their fury seeking him to kill. 
So too, at Lexington, he leaped his horse 
Over a fence, and rode unscathed away 
Amidst a flight of bullets humming round 
His ears, to tell that they were on their way. 

The traitor of the day, his name we grieve. 
He lived to be a mark of hate to all ; 
A prisoner condemned long years, he feared 
His injured friends' revenge would on him fall : 
Wakened at night by shouts of scorn aud shame. 
He'd hear the musket-balls beat on his door ; 
Till, for his son's sake, at length forgiven all. 
In peace he lived, to be harassed no more. 

Some stores were left for safety in the mill, 
The troops soon found, and seized on them to burn. 
The miller said, " This property is mine," 
Touching a barrel of his own in turn ; 
^' This corn is mine ; this barley, wheat, and rye : 
'Tis private property. This mill I own. 
And grind this grain." Convinced, they passed 

him by : 
He saved the whole, — the public and his own. 

The flag-staff on the hill was cut and burned. 
With some few stores, — the whole that they 
could find. 



28 CONCORD FIGHT. 

The Court House, fired, would have been destroyed, 
Had not a woman dared to change their mind. 

A wounded man replies to one who says, 
Stanching a bleeding flesh-wound in his side, 
" Had the ball hit you only one inch more 
Towards the heart, you would have surely died/' — 
" Yes, one inch more, I'd not been hit at all." 
He takes his musket in his hand, away 
He hurries in pursuit, and fiercely fights 
All through that bloody and eventful day. 

Beside a well, two men encounter, both 
With muskets armed, and enemies to death. 
They glare like beasts of prey. Two sharp reports : 
Together falling, draw their dying breath. 

At the Old Manse, a youth is hard at work 
That morning, cutting wood, until he hears 
The troops march by towards the bridge : and then, 
Behind the house, he, watching breathless, fears 
Yet hopes they will resist the red-coat band. 
He hears the firing. He waits until 
The regulars retreat : then, axe in hand, 
He runs across the field, and leaps the wall. 
Before him, bleeding, on the ground there lie 
Two writhing forms. Half frantic with revenge, 
He does not hear their sad, entreating cry ; 
But with fierce blows he ends their misery. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 29 

Poor hired tools ! they fought for gold alone, 

Were killed and buried by a stranger hand. 

Their grave is marked by rough, moss-covered 

stone. 
No tears fell on their mound ; but, far away. 
Some loved ones waited their delayed return : 
A mother went heart-broken to her rest ; 
A sister bent in anguish o'er their urn ; 
Fathers and brothers too. wicked War ! 
Breaker of hearts ! divider of the dear ! 
When shall thy pulse be still, to beat no more? 

Here still in Concord sleeps the ancient force ; 
Here rebels wild, fanatics fierce, we find, 
Who war against a tyranny more dread 
Than that of old, — the thraldom of the mind. 
What ! the old spirit dead ? No, no ! — it lives. 
Here o'er our stream to-day first shots are heard. 
First blows are struck, for freedom, truth, reform ; 
And ours the noblest thought, the truest word. 
Son of a race of preachers, hail to thee ! 
Thy congregation is the world ; thy sermons ring 
Deep in the inmost souls of all thy flock ; 
They strike the holiest chord, the truest string. 
Hail, home of rebels ! birthplace of Revolt ! 
By thee is Freedom's banner wide unfurled ; 
Thine the command to march to glory on, 
And from thy hand " the shot heard round the 
world." 

3* 



30 CONCORD FIGHT. 

Where the fight was, the summer grass grows 

green. 
The other day, when every field was bare 
And desolate with frost, the battle-field 
Was fresh and blooming, as if, lingering there. 
The gentle Summer dallied till the last. 
The bridge is swept away ; nor plank nor stone 
Breaks the still current of our gentle stream. 
Where once passed o'er the river men and teams. 
The gliding boat steals by with feathery gleam. 
Dear Old North Bridge ! fear not the hand of 

Time; 
Built on our hearts, thy butments firm remain ; 
Theme of the sculptured stone, the fullest 

rhyme : 
Come, let me sing to thee a closing strain. 



THE OLD NORTH BRIDGE. 

Across the stream of Time, that flows 

In silence to the sea. 
Thought builds for us so firm again 

The bridge that used to be ! 

Swift o'er its planks our fancies throng : 

We see the men we know. 
With dinner-pails and thumb-worn books 

To school as children go. 



CONCORD FIGHT. 31 

As tender lovers, on the rail 

We see them lean, and dream 
Sweet hopes their course of love will run 

As placid as the stream. 

Once more, with muskets in their hand, 

And fever in their brain. 
They rush across, to die beneath 

A storm of leaden rain. 

The gentle Concord murmurs soft 
Where stood the wood and stone : 

Rebuked, stern waves of Time fall back, 
And leave their fame alone. 

The men who built the perfect bridge, — 

Across its way we go 
In peace and plenty, fearing not 

The stream that flows below, — 

They built it well, they built it strong : 

Cemented with their blood, 
The Bridge of Liberty withstands 

Stern shocks of Time's rude flood. 

Bridge of the free ! our hearts to thee 

We raise, with grateful prayer 
To Him above, the perfect Love, 

Who laid foundations there. 



32 



CONCORD FIGHT. 



Bridge of the brave ! may every slave 
That gains thy planks be free ! 

And thy piers stand on every land, 
North Bridge of Liberty ! 



fF 



J4D. Si 1861. 



33 



NOTES. 



Note 1, Page 8. — Musketaquid, or " grass-grown," was 
the Indian name of Concord River. 

Note 2, Page 9. — A vane stamped 1673, now on a barn. 
It was once on the Court House in which assembled the Pro- 
vincial Congress. 

Note 3, Page 10. — Punkatasset, Nahshawtuck, and Annurs- 
neak are hills ; Walden, a pond ; and Assabet, the north branch 
of Concord River. 

Note 4, Page 15. — The first bell was hung on Jethro's Oak, 
which stood on the Common. 



Inscription: on Concorb Ponumcnt. 



HERE, 

ON THE 19th of APRIL, 

1775, 

WAS MADE THE FIRST FORCIBLE RESISTANCE 
TO BRITISH AGGRESSION. 



ON THE OPPOSITE BANK STOOD THE AMERICAN MILITIA. 

HERE STOOD THE INVADING ARMY; AND, ON THIS SPOT, THE FIRS I 
OF THE ENEMY FELL IN THE WAR OF THAT REVOLU- 
TION WHICH GAVE INDEPENDENCE TO 
THESE UNITED STATES. 



IN GRATITUDE TO GOD, AND IN THE LOVE OF FREEDOM, THIS 
MONUMENT WAS ERECTED, 

A.D. 1836. 



• >3 


^>-^ '■ 


■ ■ .J^ " 


3e».^ > - 


> -o 


x>^ > 


> :> 




> > 


JlI3fc^ >' 


> • ^. " 


"^TDG^ •?, 


:> •> 


"'::s® . -; 


"^:» 


^>i£> ■ 


:>j>^ 


:zsj^ V, 


>» 


~:ys> 


:^-^> 


~>-^ 


">^-^ 


> :> > 


fc > 


'> 3^ 


» > 


^ ^^ 



M?^ 



> J*y 


_:* 


^ . ^ _J* -■ 


^:>> 


3 


> ~Z> 


> > > 


• :^ 


S> ":3k . ' 


^3 


' j .~; 


> ^ ^^ 


> ^ 


-. ^ :5«. .^ :^:> 


>:: 


>> • 


> 5> :~^» 


» ^ 


>^ 


> ^ I> 


► L> ^ 


» 


^ -!> Z> 


.;> ' 


j'^ 


> > ~z> 


► > 


::>3 


> I> 3^ 


» '^> 


» 


3 > r> 


; '.y 


:5> 


-3 ■•:>-.* "i:> - 


* w> 


33^ 


3'3>I3> 


► .^ 


^^ 


'3 i^>:^ 


to -) 


> ^^ 


> i^Sfe*'^* 


:* ^ 


■'~;3r> :^^ss>::3 


:> ) 


-> _:r>: 


> 33^ Z3 


m -V. 


-' :z»: 


> ^ V> ~Ji 




>.->i -3> 


z> >^'> i::] 






>"S> :> y Z 




!:> ■ 


J33 3X 




JS> 


:>3 >^ 




^^ 


3:> > ^ 


:~> ^^ 




^ 3:> ^ >' 


, "3> 


^3 3 




» 2> 


33 > 






33 ^ 

T>3 ::> 


>^^Jm 


► Oj> 




>'>::3 




J^> 


>"» z:> 



